


almost unworthy of belonging

by fab_ia



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: (you'll see what i mean), M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, POV Daniel Jacobi, Self-Worth Issues, Trans Daniel Jacobi, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, pretending to be someone else so your coworker can try and deal with his crush in a weird way, si5 dominik koudelka, slight religious imagery, the intimacy of vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27637940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fab_ia/pseuds/fab_ia
Summary: "close your eyes, he says, sudden and unexpected. imagine that i’m him, pretend i’m who you want, say his name. who am i, jacobi?kepler, you breathe, and you close your eyes"or: moments where you wish you wanted reality rather than this escape into fiction that you've so carefully put together.
Relationships: Daniel Jacobi/Dominik Koudelka, Daniel Jacobi/Warren Kepler
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	almost unworthy of belonging

**Author's Note:**

> things to mention here: the sex isn't explicit, but it's very much present; the fic is about a very unhealthy way jacobi's trying to deal with his feelings and i really need to say that it is Not Good so. yes.

you drag him into a kiss as soon as the two of you get into the apartment, press his back against the door and try to pull as much of him against you as possible. he’s a poor substitute for the real object of your affections, but he’s here and real and he’s tugging at your shirt just as much as you are his. maybe, definitely, he doesn’t actually want you either - but, you’re there. you’re convenient.

_fuck me,_ you say, because being blunt gets you everywhere in life and koudelka makes a quiet noise against your throat that you think, hope, pray, is an agreement.

_yes,_ he says, _yes, yes, yes._

so you take him to bed, undress him, look him up and down and see the small scar on his stomach, the marks on his skin, the thin hair and you think that he’s beautiful and you think that maybe you hate him because of that. he looks up at you from where you’re straddling his stomach, still-dressed, not touching him with your hands at all because, oh, oh, no.

you don’t know if you can do this anymore, you don’t want to tarnish this, to ruin him. he’s going to break eventually because everyone does, but the second they touch you the process seems to become more akin to a train going off the rails, wild and uncontrollable and you are always the one to blame. he looks up at you and you think that maybe he could be concerned, and you hate that too. you hate him.

_close your eyes,_ he says, sudden and unexpected. _imagine that i’m him, pretend i’m who you want, say his name._

_are you sure?_

_who am i, jacobi?_

_kepler,_ you breathe, and you close your eyes as he lifts his hands to your hips, over your pants, slides your shirt up. his hands are warm against your stomach and sides. _kepler, sir, can i -_

_off,_ he says, the american accent he slips into close enough to the real thing that it still makes you shudder before you shift, dropping your clothes unceremoniously to the floor. you’ll find them later, probably, or you won’t, and maybe it doesn’t matter either way. soon enough you’re bared to the world, the light coming in from the window above the headboard, the lamp you barely thought to turn on before you both dragged each other down to lay atop the mattress. silently you reach to turn it off before you retake your place straddling him, the darkness blurring his features to the point they’re completely indistinguishable and indistinct and, really, he could be anyone. maybe that’s the point. 

_jacobi,_ he says, and he’s been listening closely if he can match the cadence so exactly, round out the ‘o’ sound in your name in the perfect way. _jacobi, aren’t you going to touch me?_

_yes, sir,_ you say, and lean down as he leans up, meeting halfway in a kiss that’s half-biting and half-fighting. his hands on your back once more, mapping out the planes of it and pulling you into him, as much of your skin against his as there could possibly be in a similar vein to when you’d come inside together. this is better, though, when your eyes are closed and you can pretend he’s someone else entirely. 

your mouth catches on the word sorry before it escapes your mouth in the breath between kisses, no matter how much you want to say it aloud. you are sorry, you are, you are so sorry that you’re doing this with him. here you are, living up to the reputation you forged in the flames of self-made hell - here you are, coming into your own as a monster as you break-break-break him.

tonight you are selfish and so you move, hand moving between his legs to wrap around him as he even manages to add the accent to the gasp that escapes him as you trail your fingertips lightly up him.

_stop,_ he hisses, _let me._

he grabs your wrist, pulls it to his mouth, kisses it before he drags his tongue over your palm and leaves it wet. you know what he wants, then, so you wrap your hand around him again and bite down on your lip as he groans.

_good._

this is unhealthy, you know, but you can’t fight down the whimper that escapes you at that, the praise warming something in your chest you weren’t certain truly existed. god, you wish it were genuine, wish it was real, you wish it was truly him telling you this.

_stop,_ he says. _take initiative. what do i want you to do?_

you don’t know, you don’t know, but you’re wet and you know what you want and so you sink down on him, another involuntary noise escaping you as you press your face against his throat. you could bite down and tear it out, you dully note, feeling suddenly full and sore and noticing the burn in your eyes. you could kill him and maybe you should. it would be a kinder death than he’ll get any other way.

_fuck,_ he hisses, still in that damn voice, and you let out another noise as you drape an arm over his shoulder and push yourself up with your thighs, letting gravity bring you down again and hearing his breath catch in his throat. _fuck, jacobi._

_please do,_ you mumble, and let yourself be lost in the sensation.

you cry.

you cry and it’s mortifying but not so much as when you gasp out praise for the man you wish was there, when your mind breaks the walls you’d tried to erect to avoid the admittance - _yes, sir, kepler, it’s so good, please more, please, i want it, i need it, i love that, i love you so much -_

it was an accident and koudelka hadn’t even hesitated as he fucked you into the mattress, choosing instead to bite a deep purple mark into the joint of neck-and-shoulder that you know won’t fade for days. he bites and claims you and with your eyes shut it could be kepler, it could be a silent reminder that you’ve been his since the day you met. 

_come,_ he says, short and sharp with one hand touching you in just the way you like, so you do. you shake and you are, again, crying, hands up to cover your face as he pulls out to come on your thigh before he drops onto the bed beside you. he doesn’t touch you and you don’t know if you like that or hate it. 

_you’re crying,_ he says, voice soft and barely audible. still the stolen voice. _what do you need?_

you are crying. it’s impossible to stop yourself shaking or to hold back the tears that are running down your face and that feel as if they’re clawing at your eyes, but the heel of your palm being shoved against your mouth muffles the sobs. you feel - filthy. you feel wrong. 

_i’m sorry,_ you say. _koudelka. i’m sorry i did this to you._

_it’s okay,_ he says, his voice once again his own, softer and a little higher, different accent entirely. your eyes are still covered and you feel disgusting, but he presses a kiss to the side of your head anyway. _can i hold you?_

he waits only for a nod before he shifts and pulls you against him, holding you close like you’re something fragile. in return you cling to him, try to listen to his soft murmurs and focus on every gentle and hesitant touch that he graces you with. they feel like light, like stars, like bite-marks in cloth - letting in the tiniest amount of illumination that, ultimately, does nothing about the impenetrable darkness, the night. you could get drunk on them, probably, or at the very least utterly lost by them. 

_you were so good, you were perfect,_ he says, still cradling you, _you were amazing and i just… want to apologise that i’m not him._

_don’t,_ you say. _please don’t._

_no, seriously -_

_you’re you. i’m here with you and you’re with me. he isn’t here right now. it’s us._

koudelka says nothing, but he traces a shape against your back. 

_do you want to borrow something to sleep in?_

_you’re inviting me to stay?_

_it’s late._

_thanks. where’s the couch -_

_we’ll share._

it hurts to see him in your clothes. koudelka is soft and still brittle around the edges, you think, he hasn’t had it burned or ground away, not quite forced to become a weapon. part of you wants to push him away, far away, to try and help him keep hold of his humanity like you didn’t bother doing. some part of you wants to keep him safe and, like so many other things, that scares you, sends terror through your veins. he isn’t one of you yet and that is such a good thing because if he was, this wouldn’t happen, he would just be another goddard-produced nightmare forced into the vaguest shape of a man. 

for now he’s still a person, one that’s too kind and too giving for his own good and who might not even realise it. he smiles at you with his face dimly illuminated by the glow of your phone as you text maxwell. your shirt doesn’t fit him right in so many ways and the shorts are loose and too short - ha - and he’s just smiling at you. gently. like you’re something somebody could care about. 

_i’m sorry,_ you say again, because it’s all you can think of. he frowns. _i’m sorry i made you do this._

_i suggested it,_ he says as he sits up, cups your face with one hand and wipes at your cheek with his thumb. his hands are so warm and you lean into it because, really, how long has it been since someone treated you with care, since you were held like this? _are you okay?_

there’s a correct answer to that question and you give it - a tiny nod, closing your eyes. he sighs and brushes your cheek with his thumb again. 

_you don’t need to lie,_ he says, _jacobi, you’re crying._

yes, you realise, far away and barely tethered to the moment, you are. 

_yeah._

_is something… did i do something to hurt you?_ his concern is so genuine and heartbreaking as a result and you don’t know how he got dragged into this mess when his life was so perfect before this. he was happy. 

_no,_ you say, you lie. _no, it isn’t you. you’ve been perfect._

_can i help you, then?_

_just - don’t leave._

how long has it been since you allowed yourself this? when was the last time you showed any kind of weakness around another person, you wonder, as he pulls you closer, lays down with you, lets you press your face to his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you. it feels so nice to be touched, to be treated like a person, for once. 

_oh, jacobi,_ he murmurs, runs a hand through your hair. _it’s okay. you’re okay. you’re safe. you don’t need to pretend right now._

you always have to pretend, you don’t say, and you are selfish so you take-take-take the comfort he offers, breathe in and out and in and out and -

he moves, just a little, and kisses your forehead. it’s short and soft and, christ, you don’t deserve it. 

today was a good day for monstrosity and a bad day to be a person which you’ve realised a little belatedly, since the clock has ticked over into the next morning and you’re already in bed. tomorrow, later today, will be equally as bad, probably, the shame-bile-anger cocktail replacing the blood in your veins. you shift, hold your own hands against your chest while he has his arms bracketing you and you dig your cut-down nails into the skin there. it doesn’t really hurt.

you close your eyes again and muse there, chest-to-chest, on how it was simple acts that drew you into orbit around the celestial body you so adore. simplicity that became affection, became a tapestry of emotion woven throughout your being that cannot unravel at risk of losing yourself. it’s mortifying to care so much when he is rarely more than carefully-crafted politeness and trust that comes from time working with each other and holding each other’s lives in your hands. there are few indications of any real inclination he has towards returning your affection although sometimes he is kind while others he is so cruel, although you suppose it’s only to be expected of a man who could be god.

at some point you must fall asleep but you don’t remember it at all, don’t remember moving to roll onto your side and curling up, trying to make yourself smaller. but - you must fall asleep, because when you open your eyes the clock reads seven-three-seven and the apartment smells like coffee because, of course, he’s visited before and he knows where the coffee goes in your kitchen. 

your eyes still sting a little as you rub them, stretching, walk into the living room to see him still in borrowed clothes holding a borrowed mug and offering you a slow smile that makes you feel like clawing off your skin. 

_good morning,_ he says. 

_hey,_ you say. you’d hoped he would leave you alone to try to compartmentalise, to try and work through whatever the fuck you did last night before you have to go to work, but, no. here he is, still softer and kinder to you than he has any right to be. 

_there should still be some of this left,_ he says, _it might be a little too cold for you now, though, i know you take it hot._

_i’m sorry,_ you say, overlapping his words with yet another apology you aren’t even sure that you entirely mean. 

_you have to stop apologising,_ koudelka says, smile falling. _i suggested we do - that. i should have stopped. i shouldn’t have -_

_i wanted to do everything,_ you say. you can’t let him blame himself for this, you can’t let him shoulder the guilt when he’d done everything you wanted him to. _you did nothing wrong._

_neither did you, then._

the second you see kepler you’re going to imagine dropping to your knees and begging forgiveness for sullying his name, his image, for imagining that he would ever sink low enough to want to touch you, be with you. you will want to tell him you’re sorry for imagining the marks encircling your throat were left there by him. you will want to apologise countless times for something he never has to know about. maybe this is what people mean when they mention the catharsis of confession, because the guilt feels like it could eat you alive. 

_i guess not,_ you say.

**Author's Note:**

> title: is actually from my own writing this time! it's nothing published yet (might not ever be) but i thought it fit  
> tumblr: @sciencematter  
> writing blog: https://knewtonn.blogspot.com/  
> poetry rec: Psalm 150, Jericho Brown, found here - https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57694/psalm-150-56d23b6f36d1b


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